CHAPTER 73: CHAPTER 73: THE ECHOES OF HEROES.

2 – 0.

Two goals to claw back for a tie.

Three to win.

And the clock ticked mercilessly forward.

While the Ross twins and Tyrese celebrated, basking in their chaos, Julian stood frozen in the storm.

His teeth ground together, fists clenched tight enough to ache.

He looked at his teammates. Their fire was dim. Shoulders sagged. Eyes dulled. Belief wavered.

If I do nothing, we lose.

Julian bent, scooped the ball, and marched to the center circle. Every step was deliberate, heavy. He didn’t wait for the referee.

Didn’t glance at the Ross twins mocking in the distance. He planted the ball firmly on the spot, chest rising and falling, eyes daring his teammates to look away.

This isn’t enough. Just carrying the ball won’t save us. They need more. They need me.

So he decided.

[Martial Memory – Active Mode: 10 Seconds]

The system’s pulse tore through him. His body thrummed with energy, the weight of countless lives pressing against his soul.

He searched. Sifted. Chose carefully. He could feel which techniques would snap his bones if misused... and which ones he could wield without breaking.

This time, he chose something different.

Not a blade. Not a strike.

A voice.

"The Echoes of Heroes."

A martial art born not from fists but from spirit. It was meant to pierce the mind, awaken the fire buried in warriors’ hearts.

To remind them of the strength they already carried.

But before he unleashed it—

[Rule the Pitch – Lv.2: +25 Charisma]

The air around Julian shimmered. His aura shifted—not sharp like steel, not violent like flame, but radiant, pulling, commanding.

His words would not just be sound. They would be conviction made flesh.

He turned first to Leo. His hand shot out, gripping the captain’s shoulder, dragging golden eyes to meet his own.

"We can win this."

For a moment, silence. Then Leo’s pupils flared, light sparking in their depths. His lips curled, breath fogging in the icy air.

"Yeah... three goals. That’s all. We can do this."

A golden hue bled into his gaze, glowing faint beneath the floodlights—Julian’s fire reflected, multiplied.

One spark caught.

Julian moved on. His arm hooked around Noah, pulling him close. "Believe in me. Believe in us."

Noah’s smirk spread slow, sharp. "Hmph. Took you long enough to say it out loud."

Another spark.

Julian’s voice carried further now, rumbling low but striking deep into every chest. "Cheer up. It’s just three goals. Trust me. Trust Noah. Trust yourselves."

The words cut through the wind, louder than the jeers spilling from Crenshaw’s side of the stands. The cold no longer bit at them.

The pain in their legs, the sting of bruises—they all felt it blur, replaced by something hotter, something heavier. Conviction.

Riku’s grin split through the frost. His fists thudded against his chest. "Then let’s break them."

Zion lifted his chin. Aaron straightened his back. Even Cael, from the box, bellowed across the pitch: "LET’S FUCKING GO!"

The fire roared back to life.

Julian clenched his fists, eyes burning like embers stoked into flame.

"Then it’s settled. Let’s win this."

[Boosting +35 Attributes to All Lincoln High Players – Distributed to Preferred Stats]

A surge rippled through the team like a shockwave. Their bodies tightened, sharpened.

Feet stamped the frozen turf harder. Breath came quicker. Eyes blazed brighter.

For the first time since kickoff, Crenshaw hesitated. Their swagger dimmed, just for a second, as if some instinct warned them—the prey they had toyed with was no longer prey at all.

Lincoln High rose as one.

Not as boys.

Not as students.

But as heroes answering their Emperor’s call.

And across the pitch, the Ross twins finally paused mid-celebration—sensing something shift.

The storm had grown stronger.

But so had the fire standing against it.

...

Kick-off.

Julian tapped the ball back to Leo.

This time, Leo’s gaze wasn’t clouded. His golden eyes burned clear, scanning angles with the calm of a general reborn. One touch, and the rhythm began.

Pass to Felix.

Felix to Julian.

Julian to Noah.

Noah back to Leo.

The ball moved like a heartbeat, pulsing through blue shirts. Each touch fed the next, each step synchronized.

One rhythm. One will.

Crenshaw chased, swarming, trying to spring their traps. Spaces opened, tempting—bait.

But Lincoln didn’t bite. They flowed past it. A machine reborn in the storm.

Every pass carried defiance. Every touch shouted: we’re not done.

The stands buzzed, voices rising, a tide of disbelief and hope clashing in the winter night.

The ball circled back to Leo. Tyrese lunged in, body scything through the frost like an axe.

But Leo didn’t flinch.

A flick of his boot—ball juggled into the air. He leapt, clearing Tyrese’s sliding body, golden eyes never leaving his target. In midair, he lashed the pass forward.

Straight to Julian.

Julian caught it just outside the box. Felix and Noah were already ghosts in the penalty area, dragging defenders with them. Javion thundered closer, a wall of muscle and frost.

Julian exhaled.

[Martial Memory – Active Mode: 10 Seconds]

Chosen Technique: Dragon Fang

[Rule the Pitch – Lv.2: +25 To All Attributes]

Power surged through his veins, his body coiled like a drawn bow.

His aura roared, unseen but undeniable—so sharp even the crowd seemed to shiver.

Make a statement.

His leg swung.

Gasps erupted.

"From there?!"

The strike exploded.

The ball ripped forward like a comet. Its spin howled, cutting the air with the roar of a dragon.

Defenders flinched as it carved through their line—not weaving, not bending, but seeking the cleanest, most merciless path to goal.

The Crenshaw keeper launched himself, gloves outstretched. He met the ball—

And failed.

The force bent his wrist, knocked him sideways. The shot tore past, kissing the inside of the post before slamming into the net.

GOAL.

2 – 1.

The crowd detonated—one half a storm, the other an inferno.

Julian didn’t celebrate. No raised arms, no screams. He strode to the net, scooped the ball, and carried it back to the spot. His eyes never wavered.

The message was clear.

No time to waste.

The clock was ticking.

Two more.